Watercolor

I felt as though my creative juices were turning to sand. I was still enjoying writing, but there were other things I wanted to do with my hands besides peck at a keyboard. I don't have a piano so I can't play; my guitar needs new string; I do not own a sewing machine. Where else to go? Then I discovered an old bag full of everything I need to have in order to learn watercolor.

I read and looked at pictures and did internet searches before I braved paint to paper. I practices brush strokes, mixing colors, drawing on watercolor paper, and then I decided I would actually paint something. I love Georgia O'Keefe and her perspective, flora at close range. So I decided to try my hand in it and the above is my first attempt. Copied from a card, I think I did okay with these tulips, especially since I'd never touched watercolor before last week. I will say my daughter, the artist, was impressed (so I gave it to her for her birthday). She placed a request for anothe rpaining which you see the progress of below.



The basics are completed above and I've begun doing details. This painting almost killed me and I couldn't see half of what I was doing (the light is not condusive to this kind of project), but I kept at it and my daughter was full of praise as I made my way across the canvas.

And here is the completed project. Two paintings down in a week and I am already moving on to my next canvas. I'm doing a portrait of my grandson. Flowers at a close range are one thing, people are something else entirely. I hope I still like to paint by the time I'm finished with him.

Spring has Sprung

What an absolutely glorious day! Unfortunately, tomorrow I will suffer for my enthusiasm. First some background information...I am living with my daughter and son-in-law in the townhouse where Big Mike spent most of his life. There were three boys and a dad in the home and none were very big on taking care of the place. When Mike's dad died, soon followed by his older brother, it soon became a frat house of which it remained until they moved into it last summer. (To say it was a pig sty is an insult to the pig.) But slowly and with great creativity and ingenuity, it has become a very fun little abode for this family.

The front and back yards, however, continue to be an eyesore as well as a death trap. There was a huge, dead pine tree gracing the back which is now nothing more than a stump. And there was no grass whatsoever. So today I got a wild burr and decided to overturn the yard, one large patch at a time. I guess Bravard told Mike because he came home with some great grass seed and the need to dig out the old stump. All I can say is "wow". Mike is not generally motivated to take on endeavors such as these, so it was a real surprise and as well as a push for me to do more. Hence the sore muscles....

Hopefully by Saturday, I'll have the entire yard turned and new grass seed planted...then it is off to the front for some much needed TLC. I can only hope my arms hold out long enough for me to complete my tasks in a manner beneficial to the household.

Taking another new road, yet again!

I went to my first Pampered Chef party about 15 years ago. I thought, at the time, that it was something I could sell, but I didn't know if my lifestyle would be condusive to building a busines. Afterall, I moved every eighteen months to three years so how could I possibly establish myself with such uncertainty? You know, we make some stupid decisions as children but the ones we make as adults are so much worse! But everything in its own time.

Being a stay-at-home grandmother and taking classes doesn't offer me much opportunity to make extra money, and the job market being what it is presently, no one is hiring for work 1 day a week. Having a home business seemed like the next best solution. I received my box of paperwork and was immediately overwhelmed. So much to do, so much is expected, so much to organize, and my immediate reaction was "Have I bitten off more than I can chew?" Probably, but I have a pretty big mouth and it takes a lot to choke me. I do, however, wish I had taken this chance AFTER completing my algebra course, but it's too late now.

So, here I am, off on yet another adventure. I am a good salesperson so that aspect will be a no brainer. I love entertaining so I can handle that part of the job. I was a theater arts major so standing in front of a crowd performing and selling won't be too hard. Having a son that is attending culinary school, having a background in entertaining, and having once worked for Williams-Sonoma and knowing products shared by both businesses, I feel as though I have a foot hold that most might not, so product knowledge should not be a problem. But where do I find my customer base...yikes. It's too late for second thoughts now and not willing to quit so easily when faced with a challenge, I will conquer Pampered Chef as well. If anyone out there would like to purchase Pampered Chef products, please let me know!

10 Things About Me...in Music Titles

(Image courtesy of Miss Fipi Lele)

Because I really am trying to begin focusing on the positive aspects of my life, I decided to write something that would lift my spirits, so to speak. I sat here with my face in the palms of my hands giving my mind free access to wander at will across the years, over the cloudy residues of the past. It stopped in Mr. Hincher's 9th Grade math class.

Mr Hincher was THE most boring teacher in the world. The nicest man you could ever meet with a vivacious wife and two precious children that I would babysit for whenever they needed me, but dead boring. He was an accountant who should never have decided to teach math to ANYONE, let alone high school students. (Can you see where this is going?) So there I was in his class learning to....you got it...graph.

I have no idea how long I was there, but the experience made me want to poke out my eyes. So instead of focusing on something positive, I shall tax my musical skills and try something creative. Coming up with songs or song titles for 10 things about me. I hope you enjoy this because it should be a fun list to produce!

1. Me: Crazy by Patsy Cline

2. Favorite color: Yellow by Coldplay

3. Favorite vacation: Spanish Moon by Little Feat

4. Biggest disappointment: D-I-V-O-R-C-E by Tammy Wynette

5. Biggest success: Kids from Bye Bye Birdie

6. Best friend: Don't Stop by Fleetwood Mac

7. Favorite Past-time: Love in Vain by Eric Clapton

8. Adulthood: Time to Pretend by MGMT

9. Family: Hard to Handle by Grateful Dead

10. Childhood: Somewhere Over the Rainbow from The Wizard of Oz or Yesterday by the Beatles

Love Under the Catalpas

The baby’s cries echoed through the monitor. My daughter sat frigid, her arms crossed tightly against her chest. With each decibel the baby’s voice increased in volume, Bravard’s patience dropped. Another high wale caused her to clinch her teeth and a tear squeezed from her closed eyelid.

I went into my room in search of my bag of those orange, foam barrels that could be squeezed to fit snuggly in one’s ear preventing sound penetration. I found them under the bed with several dust bunnies and a forgotten crossword puzzle.

I put the little bag in my daughter’s lap and kissed her wet cheek. “I’ll rock him a bit and you try to get some sleep.”

“Mom, I’ve tried that, nothing is working!” Her frustration was palpable. I just patted her cheek and headed to the baby’s room.

Michael had worked himself into a tizzy. He was standing and turned his head toward the door when it opened. When he saw me he fell onto his bottom then to his back sobbing louder. His poor face was sopping wet and bright red with pain and frustration. Teething was hard enough cutting one or two, but this little guy was getting a mouthful at once.

I cradled his body to my chest as I made my way out the front door and into the spring air. The catalpa trees in the yard stretched to the top of the old farm house. They were fully dressed, covered in new green leaves the size of dinner plates. Mother Nature had done a fantastic job this year, adding pearly jewels that the breeze rained upon earth. When they floated past their fragrance, something between frangipani and orange blossom, lingered.

I walked down the steps and toward the hammock strung tautly between two trees. Someone had used it earlier and the old, stained quilt lay across the woven mesh.

Gently I sat. As I hugged my grandson the hammock hugged me. Leaning back against the cotton I noticed how beautiful the last of the daffodils and the tulips were. They bowed and waved, dancing to nature’s music; young birds sang as they found love for the first time, squirrels chattered excitedly over a horde of nuts, bees gathered pollen to make their golden sweetness, lilies of the valley, those tinkling bells that only garden gnomes and fairies can hear, rang gently in the breeze.

As I relaxed more fully and pushed at the damp dirt with my bare toes, I was surprised at the myriad of color. I never realized there were so many shades of green. The hammock rocked and the colors changed, darkening through the layers of thickness, lightening as the sun’s rays pushed their way down to my face.

I heard several cows conversing somewhere in the near distance and the neighbor’s dog barked an answer.

And the baby laughed. I turned my head toward little Mikey and noticed a catalpa flower had spiraled downward landing on his face. Several others were parachuting toward us and they spun lazily on their ride to earth. Mikey swung his arms outward in excitement, his eyes wide and unfocused on the display that was taking place above us.

I kissed his forehead and began to sing quietly. “Go to sleepy little baby….go to sleepy little baby….it’s just you and me and the devil makes three…you know I love you little baby….” My foot kept the hammock swaying slowly.

A cloud moved overhead blocking the warmth of the sun. I continued humming but was reminded of all that was going wrong with my life; my partner had really messed up the money and was losing the house and business, my husband of twenty plus years had packed his things and begun a new life with someone he loved more than me, my mother had died, I was no longer communicating with my Dad or my sisters, and I was dead broke. At that moment I felt small, fragile, lost and without want of breath.

I noticed the gentle fuzz of the baby’s hair brush my cheek as he turned his face to me. His eyes, not quite green but still not brown opened and he gazed into my own, now old, grey and sad. And I saw love. My heart swelled so much that I thought, “If I die right now, I will die the luckiest person in the world.” Love filled me; I mean it really filled me. It made me breathe deeply. It pushed against my ribs and raced through my veins. And the sun returned and warmed the earth again.

Yes, I found love, right there, on that old hammock, under the catalpas, in the eyes of my grandson.

Remembering the past

Have you ever noticed how you can be doing the most mundane chore and this colorful memory comes flying out of nowhere implanting itself in your mind's eye where it remains, lifelike, vibrant and constant for a long time? Sometimes it leads to other memories, just as silly but just as emotionally searing. Sometimes those little nuances of time past, the little traits that one takes advantage of are the things that are missed the most when a person is no longer in your life. Licking q-tips before cleaning an ear, biting a lip in concentration, absentminded touches of a pinky as reassurance of someone's presence. And you wonder if thoughts of you fall into memories of those who have gone away to live distant and separate lives. Does that someone ever get a glimpse of something you did that was insignificant but so special? Does it glue itself into their memory bank making them catch their breath? Does it matter?

My father always said there were three stages in life; the first stage is when you are worried about what everyone thinks about you. The second is when you don't care if they think about you or not. And the third is when you realize no one was actually thinking about YOU to begin with. Thinking about you and remembering you....are they so different?